


Sunrise

by Jadesfire



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Ealdor and Camelot, two small boys are up with the dawn and already getting into trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZairaA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZairaA/gifts).



> With thanks and apologies to Deminos, who gave me the prompt that sparked this fic off. I’m fairly sure this isn’t what she had in mind, but this is where my brain took me. I suspect I may now owe *her* a fic to make up for this one.
> 
> Happy birthday, Zaira!

 

  
_Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves._  
Leonora Carrington.

 

It’s still early morning in Ealdor. The sun is barely above the horizon, but the one small window in Merlin’s house faces east, so the light streams in as soon as it’s able, lighting a perfect square on the far wall. He watches it for a while, tracing the outline of the light on the rough plaster, seeing how the spiders web of cracks are highlighted and shadowed as the sun slowly makes its way upwards. Tugging an arm out from under the blankets, he lifts towards the ceiling, his hand casting a pure black shadow into the square on the wall. He wriggles his fingers a little, watching the shadow dance, turning his hand from side to side and moving it towards the window and back to see it grow and shrink. It was the last day of harvest yesterday, so while there’s still some heat in the sun, the air is otherwise cool, sending goose pimples down his arm. He shivers a little, but doesn’t pull it back, content to shape pictures on the far wall while he waits for his mother to wake.

~

The sun is finally rising over Camelot. Arthur has already been awake for a while. He can’t tell how long, since his nurse took away the little water timer that he used to keep by his bed, saying that the noise kept her awake. That just sounds silly, since it’s her snoring that woke him, the sound first making its way into his dreams as the roar of some great beast until he jerked awake, breathless and terrified and half-ready to cry out. Then the noise resolved itself into her soft snores, low and steady from the pallet across the room, and he found he could breathe again. Still, he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, in case the monster is still waiting for him. Instead, he watches the light coming through the thin fabric of his curtains, the sun highlighting the weave of the cloth and casting a pale pink glow across the room. He’s cold and huddles under his blankets against it, trying not to feel the chill pouring off the stone walls and floor around him. It’s the first day of autumn, and the castle will sleep late this morning, he knows, after all the noise they were making at the feast last night. There might be leftovers for breakfast this morning, pies made with the first fruits and hunks of meat cut from fresh roasts. At least that’s a thought to keep him warm until his nurse finally wakes up.

~

Eventually, the light from the sun rises too high, and Merlin can’t get his hand into the beams any more, not without getting up. He really doesn’t want to, since it’s fairly warm in his blankets, and there’s still a little heat coming from the banked fire beside him. It’s probably a bad idea, but he really is cold, so he rolls over and stares at the fire, willing more warmth to come from it. He’s not supposed to do this, not even in the house, and he promises it will just be this once. When winter comes properly, they will have thicker blankets and burn more logs in the evening, protecting the house from the biting cold as best they can. This morning, he really feels the fire needs a helping hand, so he nudges it, just a little, and smiles as the tiny flame bursts into life, lifting his face to the wash of heat coming from it. He’ll get up in a minute, once the little fire burns itself out and his nose has warmed up properly.

~

Even without his timer, Arthur knows that his nurse should have been up a while ago. There’s a tiny gap where the curtains aren’t ever quite pulled together properly, and pure sunlight comes streaming through it. He knows from watching its progress on the far wall that he was probably supposed to have woken about an hour ago. He’d be worried, if this was the first time she’d been late in waking, or if he wasn’t used to hearing those deep snores on the morning after a feast. Reluctant as he is to get her in trouble, she needs to be more careful or his father will start to notice. Maybe he can say something to her this morning. That will have to wait until she wakes up, though, because it isn’t the place of princes to rouse their servants in the mornings. In the meantime, Arthur will just have to watch the progress of the sliver of sunlight on his wall and pretend that he isn’t getting bored.

~

Merlin wakes up again when the corner of his blanket catches fire. It’s just the very corner, and it only takes a few seconds of frantic blowing and flapping to put it out again, but still. That’s not the main reason his mother says that he’s not to use his magic, but it’s probably on the list. He stares at the charred fabric, wondering if he can do something to hide it before his mother wakes up. The smell of burning lingers in the air, but there are some lessons even Merlin has learned, and not summoning breezes in the house is one of them. Maybe if he lights the fire again properly, the woodsmoke will blot it out. The damage to the blanket is another thing, though, and he knows she'll notice that. It's only a patch as big as his palm, really and he's sure he can do something about it. How badly could it go wrong?

~

Arthur is fed up with waiting. By the sounds of it, his nurse will sleep until noon unless she's woken up. He could go over and shake her, but he's too cross for that, so he climbs out of bed on his own, shivering as his feet touch the cold stone floor. His boots are in the bottom of the cupboard, and he stuffs his feet into them, struggling to pull them up over his ankles. It's not easy to do on his own and standing up, so he sits on the hearth rug, tugging at them hard enough that he falls onto his back, which actually makes it easier to get them onto his feet properly. The wardrobe is too tall for him to reach most of his clothes, so he goes to the chest at the foot of his bed instead, rummaging through the toy armour and short wooden swords until he finds the cloak that Sir Ector gave him on his last birthday to complete his knight’s costume. He’s not allowed to join even the squire’s training until he’s eleven, and with a whole eight months to go, this will have to do for now. Tying it around his neck, he picks up one of his swords and heads out into the quiet castle hallways.

~

Merlin stares down at the blanket, determined not to cry. Will says that only babies cry and eight is much too old to be bursting into tears. Still, it’s a close thing, and he has to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes, pretending firmly that he is not as upset as he feels. It’s not the blanket, its worn and charred corner unravelled to threads under his fingers, it’s this stupid, stupid thing inside him that never does what he wants. He presses his hand down, trying to cover all the loose ends and will them back together again. The wool twitches a little, but nothing else happens. His mother will need to cut the whole corner off and rebind the edge, all because he can’t do one stupid thing with this stupid power. This is why his mother doesn’t want him using it, because it’s stupid and it never works. Without meaning to, he takes a deep breath that makes him shudder, and then he is crying, hiccupping sobs that shake his shoulders as he curls his fingers around the unwoven fibres.

Across the room, he hears his mother stir, and he clamps both hands over his mouth trying to hold the sound in. He doesn’t want to wake her, and he doesn’t want her to know what he did. Both thoughts make his cheeks burn red with embarrassment and he takes his hands from his mouth, pulls the blanket over his head and hopes that it will all just go away.

 

~

The hallways are quiet, with only a few guards up in this part of the castle. Arthur knows that means his father has already risen for the day, and that the corridor outside his chambers will be deserted. It’s easy to hide from the few servants still around, and soon he’s in the long, deserted hall. The light is strong and bright up here, unlike the filtered glow in his bedroom, so he can pretend he’s out in the forests around Camelot, fighting the monster from his dreams. He turns and slashes with his sword, cutting through the shadows and making his cloak swirl around him. It makes a satisfying swishing sound when he does it again, spinning and stabbing his sword into the air. For his third strike he tries the backslash he’s seen his father do, but the sword slips from his grasp and goes flying across the corridor. It hits the table, making it rock wildly, the vase on top of it teetering crazily for a moment before tipping over, rolling to the edge and falling to the floor with a splintering crash.

In utter horror, Arthur stares at the shattered remains on the floor, then lifts his eyes very, very slowly to the person who seems to have appeared out of nowhere at the other end of the hall. Morgana’s eyes are as huge and bright in the sunshine, and they stare at each other for a few horrible moments before Arthur sucks in a deep breath, turns and flees into his father’s chambers, Inside, he runs straight for the bed, clambers up and pulls the covers over his head. Maybe if he hides here long enough, everyone will think Morgana did it.

~

When Merlin wakes up again, he is still curled up under the blanket, but he is much warmer than earlier and his head is resting on something soft. He stirs a little, and the blanket is pulled away to reveal his mother’s face looking down at him. It’s a strange angle, but her smile is clear as she reaches out to push some of the hair from his forehead.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she says, leaning down to kiss him. “What are you doing under there?”

He wriggles a little, not wanting to come out from under the warmth of the blankets and his mother’s embrace. She’ll have to know, though, so he just lifts up the corner of the blanket for answer, closing his eyes at the same time and burying his face in her lap. Underneath him, he feels her shake a little, and for a moment, he’s terrified that she’s crying, that he’s _made_ her cry again and he never wants to come out. Then her hand is on his shoulder and she tugs at him until he sits up and sees that she is still smiling, the laughter pulling at her mouth and shoulders as she shakes her head.

“Is this what you were so scared of?” she asks, pulling him to her when he nods. “Oh, Merlin.”

He’s too big to be cuddled like this really, and he doesn’t fit in her arms like he used to, but he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around her neck, pressing his face into her shoulder and trying to get as close to her as possible, trying not to cry again as she wraps him up. The blanket is scratchy against his neck, and he fidgets for a moment, moving so that he has his head on her shoulder properly, letting her cradle him close.

“It’s alright. I promise, it’s going to be alright. You’re safe here.”

He knows he’s not supposed to use his magic, not even in the house. But more than that, he knows that he mustn’t ever use it outside, that bad things will happen if he does. He doesn’t want to think about that. He wants to be here and safe and so he pulls the blanket tighter around himself and settles down, feeling the warmth of his mother’s arms, the steady beat of her heart, the smell of flour and earth from her dress. They’ll have to get up and work soon if they want to eat today, but for now, he’ll stay here for as long as she’ll let him.

 ~

Arthur thinks he hears movement three or four times before someone actually comes into the room, each time making him jump and stare in the direction of the door, even though all he can see is the whiteness of the bed sheets. Footsteps skitter across the floor, then the bed dips and he just about has time to grab hold of the covers before Morgana can pull them off him completely. Instead, she lifts them only enough to let her crawl underneath and sit down beside him, curling her feet under her nightdress.

“The floor’s cold,” she says, shivering a little. “Are you all right?”

He hates Morgana. She’s always trying to follow him around and do what he does, and she never gets into trouble when she breaks something or tears something or says the wrong thing at dinner. So he just glares at her, sitting up under the sheet so it falls around them like a tent.

“Do you think your father will be very cross about the vase?” Her voice is soft, almost gentle, and he looks away, not wanting her sympathy. He’s the prince of Camelot. He doesn’t need to talk to girls.

“I’m sure if you tell him it was an accident, he won’t be angry.”

He’s looking away from her, so he jumps a little when her cold fingers touch his hand and he pulls away instinctively. Not put off at all, Morgana shifts around so that they’re shoulder to shoulder, and he feels her shiver a little. Grudgingly, Arthur pulls at his cape until he can wrap it around both of them, letting her lean against him and warm her hands on his. He’s not hiding. And he’s not worried about what his father will say, he’s really not.

He’s just going to stay here until their nurses come to find them, because that’s their job. And if he lets Morgana put her arm around him, and if he grips her fingers tightly under the covers, then it’s just because he’s going to be a knight of Camelot and he knows that you're not supposed to be rude to ladies, even when they're Morgana. He is absolutely and completely not scared of his father’s disappointment. At all.

 

~o0o~

On the days after feasts, Arthur likes to sleep until at least noon, so there's really no good reason for Merlin to wake him when the sun is still so low in the sky.

"Rise and shine," he says, the way he always says it, and if Arthur ever works out how Merlin manages to be so damn cheerful first thing in the morning, he'll bottle it and sell it and make Camelot the richest kingdom in the world, never mind Albion.

"If I offered to give you the day off," Arthur says, head still mostly under the covers, "would you go and bother someone else first thing in the morning and leave me alone?"

"Best part of the day," Merlin says, throwing the curtains open and flooding the room with light.

Groaning, Arthur rolls over and makes himself sit up. It's still too bright for him to see properly, but he can hear Merlin bustling around the room, and after another moment, Merlin himself comes into view. Arthur frowns.

"What happened to your..." He waves a hand vaguely at the thing that Merlin always wears around his neck, which seems to have developed a large, dark mark since last night. Of course, from the way his head is pounding, it's possible that Arthur's just seeing things, except that Merlin flushes a little, hand going to his neck.

"Caught it on a candle last night trying to get you from the chair into the bed."

Squinting a little and trying to focus, Arthur says, "Did you try to darn it yourself?" He flicks at the scarf as Merlin brings him a cup of water and a sweet roll, still warm from the oven. The water is probably a good idea, but he puts the roll down for now, waiting for his stomach to stop rolling.

The flush on Merlins cheeks deepens, his hand coming up to cover the hole and the loose threads that he's obviously failed to weave back in. "Er. Yes?"

It's probably not a good idea to roll his eyes right now, in case his head implodes. Sipping his water, Arthur says, "Thank goodness you send my things to the castle seamstresses then. You really should be more careful."

"Me? I'm not the one who broke three bowls and a wine jug on his way to bed!"

Strange, he doesn't remember that. Not that it matters. "It's my castle, Merlin. I can break whatever I want."

"Of course, your highness." There's too much sarcasm in Merlin's voice for Arthur to process while his head still feels as though someone is ringing the warning bell inside it. He just about registers that Merlin gives him a deep, insolent bow, his arms full of laundry, then disappears into the outer chamber. After a moment, there's the sound of clattering plates, making Arthur wince.

Obviously, he's not going to be allowed to just stay here and nurse his aching head this morning, and he'll get up in a minute, he really will. But the sunlight is falling on the bed fully now, the brightness painful and searing and cutting through the fog in his head. It's still too much for him at the moment, so he closes his eyes and lifts his face to it, letting the warmth seep into his skin, and the sound of Merlin dropping what was probably the entirety of his breakfast onto the floor.

It's going to be a good day.


End file.
